Innisfree
by Inks Inc
Summary: Escapism is, perhaps, the one true commonality of the human race. WARNING: Triggering content. One shot.


They say that men do it differently.

They don't say it lightly, whoever they are. They've conducted thorough, scientific studies. The data subjects they've inspected, invasively, confirm this specific male peculiarity. Women are much neater, much more conscious of the aftermath. Sensitive to the practicalities that will descend like a wave of locusts on the bewildered survivors.

They're neat.

They're tidy.

My lips twitch slightly as I think that even now, at this point, I am not the norm. I don't belong, don't gel, never have... and never will. I too am conscious of the aftermath. But not for the benefit of anyone else. No. I've long since accepted that my selfishness and self centered view of the world is as deeply imbued in me as my own DNA. There will be no scandalous scene, no need for a self important investigator to squat down and furrow their brow, speculating and surmising. That would be... disagreeable, to me.

The bourbon is exquisite.

It turns to ash in my mouth, but I swallow it whole.

I turn and gaze idly out at the cityscape. The lights of the millions below reflect in my disinterested pupils. My reflection is unimpeachable. My white, open at the collar, shirt is pressed and starched, the sleeves loosely rolled up to my elbows. My black pants are without a single crease. The gramophone plays a muted piano concerto in the background, the scratchy whirring of the crescendo tickles my ears.

Sighing, i turn away from my eye in the sky.

I no longer wish to see.

The leather of my favorite armchair welcomes me as I refill my glass. Crossing my legs I swirl the ice around and stare into it, marvel at its fleetingness. It's perfect design. It exists for only as long as is required to serve its definitive purpose. Once that purpose has been served... it melts away into nothingness. Transcends into something bigger than itself. No longer visible to the eye, but notable to whomever it served.

I like the cleanliness of that lifecycle.

The human lifecycle is much more troublesome. Unwieldy, fraught... with no defined purpose. Only the illusion of purpose. My phone spins on the table beside me and I have no difficulty in ignoring her call. Elena is going to have to learn to survive without me. A small smirk pulls at my lips. It's amusing how things turn out. How I thought I could never possibly survive without her and now it is she who's going to have to survive without me.

Not that that will present a challenge.

Seattle is brimming with bottom feeding ladder climbers.

She'll hitch her wagon to the brightest star and soar with their incline.

Grace's face swims in my slowly numbing mind, followed closely by Mia's. The only women in my life I feel... something for. They'll be okay. I've made sure of it. Carrick and Elliott are important too, sure, but my girls are different. It's they who I hope will understand the most. I hope they'll, one day, realize that this is the greatest kindness I have ever showed myself. I hope they'll understand how tired I was. How browbeaten. How universally, irreversibly and hopelessly alone I was...

How I yearned for release.

How I tried it all. The doctors, the counselors. The naturopaths, the healers. The drug free to the drug fueled. I tried it all, that much is my one unassailable truth. But it didn't work. None of it. Ever. There is a darkness inside me, I know it now. It's been with me since birth, since my inception. I tried to outrun it. I used success to shield me from it. But no matter how tall I built the buildings or how fast I bought the planes, trains and automobiles... It came for me.

Me and my shadow.

Of course I learned to mimic human emotion. People would've been uncomfortable otherwise. But it was always an act, a play. A study of the human condition and the conclusion that I was incompatible with it. I tried to explain it to them. But I couldn't get the words out. Couldn't tell them that it was like I lived at the bottom of a deep, dark well. There was a ladder on the wall of the well. The sun streamed through the shaft. The birds sung in the distance.

But I could never climb the ladder.

It fell away every time I tried.

Turned to dust... ashes... to nothing...

After a while, I learned to keep away from the ladder. The ladder was nothing more than a taunt, a cruel mirage in the most desperate of deserts. I learned to thrive in the damp, dank confines of the well floor. But now... now I am just so tired. I need to leave my well. But the ladder is as unattainable as it ever was, even more so. There's only one other way out. One way to stop the pain of feeding my shadow.

There's a pleasant blurring of my surroundings, now.

The well is a little harder to see.

On the coffee table are letters. I know they'll find them and keep them forever.

That's the human condition.

Leaning back in the chair, I smile. The birds are a little closer now. Their songs are happy and musical. The brightness is a little brighter. My shadow stirs and narrows its eyes. It wants me to pick up my phone and call someone. It wants me to stay in the well with it. To allow it to feed off me for a little longer. I wont fall into its trap. Not again. Sleepiness begins to stir in me and I relish it.

I haven't slept in the longest time.

My expansive wealth is all accounted for, of course. A wide breadth of charities will benefit from my escape. I can only hope that they break open other people's wells in the days, weeks and months to come. Perhaps other people will learn to climb the ladder from my inability to do so. Perhaps they'll get to see the birds in real time.

Perhaps...

Relief burns in me. Freedom beckons. I'm not a religious man but I can't help but hope there's something better on the other side. Not fluffy clouds and fat guys in white robes. But... something. Maybe a garden or two. I like gardens. I like the possibility of growth. My eyelids begin to fall shut and I take a deep breath. The one poem that I read in High School comes back to me... I think it's by some Irish guy.

_I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,_

_And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;_

_Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,_

_And live alone in the bee-loud glade._

_And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,_

_Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;_

_There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,_

_And evening full of the linnet's wings._

_I will arise and go now, for always night and day_

_I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;_

_While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,_

_I hear it in the deep heart's core_.

I'm very tired now.

I close my eyes and take my one and only leap of faith.

I'm finally going to Innisfree.

...

A/N: Hey guys. I know I've been AWOL for a while now, but life's insane. I will be updating my other stories soon. Thanks for hanging in there. I wrote this cos' I was in a melancholy mood and I wanted to try and get my writing juices going. For all those that have PM'd me, thank you so much. I've read them all but FF won't let me reply and I don't know why! But thank you xx

Inks x


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